Page 44 of A Widow for the Earl
In the coming days, Vincent would have to judge the severity of the scandal. If it was not the sort of rumor that would go away on its own, there would be only one choice for Prudence: shewouldhave to marry Peter Swann. And, though it would pain him deeply, Vincent would have to be the one to ensure it happened before Prudence was ruined completely.
And I returned from London insucha good mood, too…
Such a good mood that he had almost done something so very foolish himself, reaching for Beatrice’s hand like that, compelled to be closer to her. Indeed, it was becoming clear to him that, whenever she was near him, he lost the ability to think wisely altogether.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Vincent could not stay in that manor with the two women who seemed determined to unravel his dignity and respectability in one way or another. Not without losing his mind, at least. So, he had informed them that he meant to retire for the evening, claiming weariness from his journey back from London. But rather than head upstairs to his chambers, he slipped out into the dusk, saddled his horse, and took off toward sanity.
The moment he stepped into the noise and smoke of the Oxford Gentlemen’s Club—a rather smaller affair than what he was used to in London—he felt a little of the weight slide from his shoulders. Here, no bothersome women could cause him any trouble.
“Grayling, is that you?” a surprising voice called out, drawing Vincent’s attention to the nearest drinking parlor.
Seated in the corner were two faces who could not have been a more welcome sight.
“What on earth are you doing in Oxford?” Vincent asked with a relieved smile, weaving around a collection of round tables and their attached inebriates.
Edmund and Lionel rose to greet their friend, clapping him on the back, ushering him into a seat. At the same time, Edmund gestured to a passing waiter to bring a glass of whatever they were sipping.
“Business,” Lionel said with a groan. “You know I hate being dragged away from Westyork, but there was a matter that required my attention.”
Vincent raised an eyebrow. “You are not contending with the office of Philbert & Sons are you?”
“Now, how can it be that you know that?” Lionel frowned, his mouth opening in mild shock.
“Because I, too, have been attempting to deal with them,” Vincent replied. “Fortunately, my second residence is closer than Westyork, but it is still a nuisance. Why, you are lucky if there is someoneattheir offices. I have tried to arrange a meeting at least six times, to no avail.”
Edmund lifted his half-empty glass of brandy in camaraderie. “Gratefully, I amnotcontending with lawyers. I was invited toa… reunion of sorts, with the fellows from Balliol College. They departed this morning, and I was due to leave too, when I bumped into this fine gentleman and thought I would stay a day longer.”
“Well then, I am glad that I, too, decided to make the journey to Oxford this evening,” Vincent said, comforted by the presence of his friends.
With so much to keep him busy at Grayling, he had not made the effort to see them nearly as much as he should have done. They never seemed to mind, though ithadbeen something of a habit for more years than he cared to admit, always being absent.
“To what do we owe this pleasure?” Edmund asked, as Vincent’s glass of brandy arrived.
Taking the glass and inhaling the rich, spicy scent until his eyes watered, Vincent shrugged. “Women.”
“Ah, you must mean the indomitable Miss Johnson,” Edmund said, raisinghisglass so they could all clink and cheers the moment. “Or is she still Lady Wycliffe? I confess, it is difficult to know.”
Lionel nodded slowly. “Would she be considered the Dowager Viscountess? I suppose not, as there is no new viscountess.”
“As you are not married,” Edmund added, giving Vincent a nudge in the arm.
Vexed that talk had turned so quickly to Beatrice, and by his own doing, Vincent took a hearty gulp of the brandy. “I did not say it was Miss Johnson that troubled me. Why, I have hardly seen her; I have been in London this past week, far from her… irksome ways.”
“London, eh?” Edmund tilted his head. “So, are you saying there is, perhaps, a young lady in the Capital who has inspired you? Might the evasive Lord Grayling finally be considering marriage?”
In that moment, Vincent wished he could have been more like the missing member of their quartet, Duncan. Not the Duncan who existed now, utterly besotted with his wife, Valeria, but the Duncan before Valeria, who had been a renowned rake. A man who had never been without stories about endless women.
Of course, Vincent did not actually want to be a rake, but he wanted to have something other than Beatrice to discuss with his friends. He did not want her to keep sliding into his thoughts, unbidden and confusing, making him feel utterly unanchored from his usual self.
“Isolde was just saying the other day that she wondered why you and Miss Johnson did not just marry,” Edmund continued, sipping his drink pensively. “I suppose she thinks that will solve your current predicament.”
Curiosity tickled the back of Vincent’s mind. “And what did you have to say to that? Last time I saw you, you were trying to figure out if she is truly cursed or not.”
“I said that, for your safety, I could not agree,” Edmund replied. “The notion in general, however, does make a good deal of sense. If she were someone else, I mean.”
Lionel eyed his two friends closely. “You know, I never thought I would marry because ofmycurse, yet here I am:joyfullymarried and as healthy as horse.” He shrugged. “Admittedly, mine is a rather different curse, but I… suppose I feel sorry for her. It cannot be easy to be so incessantly discussed and scrutinized after so much bad fortune; it is rather like pouring salt on a wound.”
